


That Spiderman is a Menace!

by D20Owlbear



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aziraphale is a bastard and Crowley loves it, Crowley is spiderman, Gen, Other, Pure Crack, Spiderman AU, now that they're mostly retired, they're menaces I tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: An indulgent crack-fic AU for the prompt: "spiderman!crowley. triple identity. hell can't find out he's spidey and humans can't find out he's a demon and no one can know anthony j crowley is either of those. jjj calls him a public menace and he BEAMS"
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37
Collections: Chaotic Omens: The Fallout of a Big Bang





	That Spiderman is a Menace!

It had been an interesting date, they were in New York and Crowley had wanted to go to an observatory, see what Humans knew and had found so far, maybe they’d seen the cast of his hands reaching into the cosmos he’d left them or found the bridge in the Milky Way! He’d been bouncing along in excitement while trying to play it cool, so really it just looked like he was overly jittery from caffeine as Aziraphale worked out how to take pictures with an instant-develop polaroid camera, an original from the 80’s Crowley had gotten him and he only just remembered.

“Ow!” Crowley hissed loudly while gripping his ankle, he limped over to a bench and groaned at the bite he found after he took off the black snakeskin boots, already dark and bleeding a bit too. Must have been a big spider or something, oh well, nothing to worry about, not really. It was notoriously hard to poison or use toxins on a demon, not only because physical corporation built to house their demonic form didn’t quite work like a normal Human, but also because of the little bit of Hellfire they all carried in their gut instead of an actual immune system - at least the models older than the 1890s when germ theory came out and someone down under decided it made enough sense to transition models to work that way. Crowley had an older model, vintage even, had only needed a single new issuance of a corporation after some time in the 1400s when he’d been discorporated as the Black Knight and then finally been issued a new one after a hellish year in, well, Hell.

“Are you alright, my dear boy?” Aziraphale caught up quickly after Crowley’s exclamation of pain, pulled from his attempts at capturing moving people with outdated technology.

“Yeah, ‘ss fine.” Aziraphale simply gave him a _look_ as he put his shoes back on and suddenly felt tired, maybe it was a black widow or something and he’d need to sleep it off for the Hellfire to do what it needed to.

~~~

3 months later

“How the hell did you manage to get these pictures on a _polaroid?!_” JJ Jameson, an editor at the Bugle in New York, scowled around an unlit cigar- chewing on it more than anything something of a calming habit more than anything. It didn’t work. 

“Well, I suppose it was simply luck.” Aziraphale smiled gently, kindly, and far too nice for a newspaper.

“_Luck_, huh?” Jameson muttered disbelievingly, but took the pictures anyway, they were miraculously good, to be perfectly honest, he could see the clunker the other man, Mr. Azira P. Fell according to the waiver he signed to sell the pictures of this new SpiderMan, was using for pictures. Some old school, probably original, polaroid 600 or some bullshit. Some of these pictures were better than the shit he paid real school-graduate professionals for, and some soft, middle-aged man with no degree to his name came in with better. Much better. He’d have to get on his photographer’s asses for this.

~~~

“And then he said,” Aziraphale giggled a little, well into his cups, “That you were a _menace!_” Crowley fell off the counter, laughing. Quite a feat at this point, what with his unwitting tendency to get stuck to everything. He’d donned the vigilante persona that the media had named SpiderMan, for lack of anything better given by the man himself. It had been fun, not using any miracles to save people so neither Heaven nor Hell could keep tabs on him anymore, and now with a mask and alternate identity, he finally felt free in a way he couldn’t remember ever being before.

Aziraphale encouraged his antics, mostly, and took pictures of him in his miracle’d black spandex outfit with just enough padding to emphasize his ribs and shoulders, making him look inhumanly skinny - evocative of the joining of the thorax and abdomen of a spider with how his hips flared in a way that was difficult to tell if he was actually male or female beneath the padding - _perfect_. They’d conspired to sell the photos, uncaring about Crowley’s new reputation, and sent whatever money they made off of it to a few hospitals and charities under the blasé pseudonym S.P. Idurmann. It wasn’t a whole lot, a paycheck or two so far - but then that got spun into a tale of the vigilante being an everyday working-man and they’d gotten quite a bit of fun out of that too.


End file.
